


Fevered Beauty

by breatheforeverypart



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Gen, M/M, Vaguely related to 'Falling Slowly', references to rape, this is another glimpse into Eponine and Grantaire's life before the Amis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:53:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire returns after being missing for the better part of 24 hours to Eponine barely managing her younger siblings and a sick OC (named Mara, who is mentioned in my other fics).  After shock wanes, the pair deal with a new crisis using old techniques.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered Beauty

"Fevered Beauty"

Eponine closed her eyes and bounced Gavroche in her arms to the rhythm of his own sobs. 

“Shhh” She chided. “Do ya want Maman to hear?” 

He hiccupped and rubbed his wet face along her neck. 

“She’s passed the fuck out in the hall.” 

Eponine whipped around with such vigor that the toddler startled and began to whimper in earnest. 

“Where. Have. You. Been.” Each word dripped with worry and hurt. 

“Out.” He shrugged, taking uneven shaky steps. 

She backed away, clutching Gav to her chest. 

“Azelma, get Mara.” She directed in a low serious voice. 

Grantaire kicked at a pile of crap and stumbled into a relic of a kids play table. 

The petit filles tugged at Eponine’s shorts. 

“Mara throwed up.” Azelma informed her big sister, her little arms stretched around a thinner girl. 

“Right.” Automatically Eponine pressed the back of her hand to the shivering child’s forehead. 

The siblings got her settled on the lice infested couch and Eponine turned to Grantaire. 

“So, where is it?”   
He stared blankly. “What?”   
“The medicine. I gave you money...last night.” 

Grantaire continued to gape at her. 

Eponine pinched the bridge of her nose and settled a hand of her hipbone. 

Grantaire swallowed thickly and attempted to break through her own mental fog.   
She should be angrier he thought. Usually he’d get chewed out for shit like this. He braced himself for more assaults. He knew that verbal blows had the potential to scar as permanently as physical ones. 

“R?” Eponine called. “Just hold this on her head.” He felt a damp cloth being pressed into his hand and forced his eyes open. 

Her face was caked in day old make-up. Bits of mascara clumped under her lashes and added to the dark circles under her eyes that lack of sleep had graced her with. ‘Ponine’s hair had roughly been yanked into a knot on a top of her head and the shirt she was wearing had crusted spit-up that trailed from her shoulder to her waist. 

“Where are you today?” She snapped, pushing him towards the girls huddled on the couch. “Honestly, R. I don’t fucking have time for this…” 

His vision blurred and Grantaire barely registered her gasp. 

Gavroche’s cried seemed miles away from his ears when Eponine plopped him on the floor. 

He didn’t flinch when her hands touched his back. 

Or when she yelled for Azelma to bring her the first aid kit he had pinched last month. 

He must have whimpered, for ‘Ponine’s voice become uncharacteristically soft. 

She murmured trivial comforts as she lifted the hem of his t-shirt. The fabric clung to drying wounds and Grantaire hissed involuntarily. 

Eponine’s fingers fell to the inner seam of his jeans and he found himself clutching her arm. 

He twisted it as he turned around bringing Eponine to her knees. 

“R!” She yelped. “L-let go. Please. You’re bleeding.” 

He blinked, her words reverberating in her ears. Grantaire released her arm and stared at his own quaking hands as if they belonged to someone else. 

Eponine edged his shirt off slowly, narrating her movements in a low steady voice she reserved for the broken. Realization flushed his body and Grantaire found himself pitched forward, choking on nausea. 

“Easy there.” She whispered. Eponine’s breath tickled his neck and R open his eyes to see Azelma’s pinched face staring back at him in fear and stubbornness.   
His gaze dropped to the scarred pot that he assumed was a barf bucket and attempted a laugh, which promptly turned to a moan as the raw skin on his back tore in protest. 

“Hold on.” Eponine commanded. “This is going to hurt.” With a relatively clean finger, she applied antibiotic cream along the length of each wound. 

Tracing the patterns, Eponine could feel where the John’s belt had split her brother’s skin. He shuddered under her touch and fought to maintain his composure. 

These scars would never heal. Eponine knew that another piece of Grantaire’s soul had been ripped from him. The cost had come in blood. 

“No shirt for a while yeah?” She clucked her tongue softly as she helped Grantaire out of his stained jeans. 

She eyed him worriedly before settling Gavroche in Azelma’s arms and shooing the siblings into the main room of the house. 

“Yes, yes. R needs to rest. What?” She paused, addressing her sister. “Mara too. Keep le petit home quiet.” Eponine directed. 

During this exchange, Grantaire had not moved a centimeter. 

“Wanna lay down?” She asked. 

“No.” He answered sharply. With an abrupt shake of his head, Grantaire winced and wavered. 

Quietly Eponine set a lumpy pillow on the floor along with an old relatively clean blanket. She added a few of Montparnasse’s ‘miracle’ tablets and a cup of water before moving to Mara’s side. 

The little girl’s fever tossed her body about in angular movements and vivid nightmares. Eponine smoothed the bath towel over the child and held her as close as the tremors would allow. 

Mindlessly, she began to hum. It was a product of their childhood. Grantaire had prodded her to talk about beautiful things. After a particularly traumatic night, they had a game of finding loveliness in despair. Her favorite example had been rain. ‘Cause it kept walk-in clients away. Grantaire had judged her comment for being the absence of pain, not the presence of anything. 

Eventually, they came to the conclusion that rain was the epitome of beauty because of all it could do. It had the potential to cause utter devastation, like people. But it also held the ability to cradle and protect fragile seedlings until they developed roots.

Eponine sang quietly until Mara’s tremors stilled. The tense silence that filled the small room broke when a husky voice jarred her. 

“Don’t stop.” 

Grantaire lay on his side, curling his legs as close to his chest as he could manage while keeping his spine straight. 

Tears stained his face and highlighted the black eye that would be fully visible in a few hours. 

Eponine nodded and slipped off the couch. She sang until her voice cracked at the edges. Long after Grantaire fell in to a fitful slumber, she hummed their tune. Childish beliefs of flowers and rain prickled her eyes, but she wiped them away in favor of protecting the beauty that lay broken in front of her.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi darlings : ) This is the product of an idea that I've been toying around with for a couple weeks. I'd really appreciate feedback! Would some people be interested in more fics like this, along the vein of 'Falling Slowly'?


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